I’m walking around the house, repeating to myself, “I’ll have a little American baby”, and laughing. I was born behind the Iron Curtain, so you can understand why the idea of a little American baby seems strange.
And I’m not just speaking formally when I say this will be an American baby. I have proof of its inclinations already. For weeks, I’ve had the most intense cravings for
1. Pizza
2. Hamburgers.
And when I say “cravings “, I mean I have dreams about them and have to make efforts not to drool on the keyboard as I write the word “pizza.”
Normally, I eat pizza about once a year and hamburgers about once every 3 years, so this is highly unusual.
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